Finding a Haven
by c1araoswa1d
Summary: Tumblr Whouffle Prompt: I have always wondered what the Doctor would say if he asked her to marry him randomly. Doctor on one knee.


Sometimes it felt to Clara as if she had been in the Tardis forever and sometimes it felt like it was just yesterday she was climbing aboard for the first time, tea mug in hand, following bewildered behind the man who still managed to make her heart race every time she saw him. The memory always tickled her because it came with that first afterthought about the strange man she travelled with – _the constant afterthought_: What in the hell was going through his mind?

She'd never really found a satisfactory answer to the question.

The Doctor was an unpredictable thing, the surprising variable in her life and despite the palpitations he caused, she rather enjoyed it. Clara found herself looking to the expressions on his face with fascination because aside from a few obvious things, she never quite understood him. She didn't think she ever would, nor did she think she minded.

Her life had become a purposely maintained regiment since her mother's death. She focused on schooling and keeping a smile on her father's face because she swore to herself in that graveyard that she'd never look to him and see that loss in his eyes again. She couldn't – how could she watch her father fall apart and remain standing herself? So she kept the house in order and she teased him about his greying hair and she made sure to tell him about her day and forced him to talk about his.

Of course, the day of her graduation, he'd been in the audience staring up at her as she crossed the stage and for a fleeting moment, he'd looked to his side and he'd set his jaw tightly knowing the woman he sought wasn't there. Clara had made her way back to her seat with tears in her eyes she wiped away and she set herself to the task of smiling, putting on an animated show for him so he could forget, for just a little while longer, who was missing.

She thought maybe when she was gallivanting around the world; she might be able to put that behind her. Clara thought maybe she'd allow herself to mourn then, to _evolve_ then. To look out at the Grand Canyon, or at the whales breeching in the arctic, or at an Aztec pyramid somewhere in a jungle and she'd give herself a little while to cry and think about how much she'd want to tell her mother about those 101 places she was destined to see… and couldn't.

And then George's wife died. She passed away on Clara's watch, and when she looked at those children so lost in confusion, she set herself on a new task: a secondary sweep of her emotions under a rug to ensure that Angie and Artie had the perfectly bubbly nanny to distract them from their pain, except this time she pushed her plans underneath it too.

With perpetual cheerfulness, Clara cooked their meals and she cleaned their clothes and she helped them with homework; she asked them about friends and dates and their plans for the future because she knew that's what mothers did. Because Clara knew how broken her heart still was, missing her own mother, and she hoped that maybe by mending theirs, she could mend her own. But she watched them move on while she remained stuck in her schedules and her routines. She found herself taking comfort in them and letting her ambitions stand on the sidelines.

Until that knock on the door; that ridiculous face just outside grinning excitedly for her.

"_Clara Oswin Oswald_?"

It still made her smile as she stepped into the familiar police box, the way with which he'd said her name, hands clasped together, body doing an odd dance of its own accord, as if seeing her were the most exhilarating thing he could have done that day. He still gave her exactly the same look, years later, Clara thought with a grin, settling her travel bag down in one of the chairs around the console and smiling up at the lights that blinked appreciatively at her, a drastic contrast to how the machine had responded to her on her first few trips.

"_Hello _to you too," she whispered lightly, "Where _is_ the Doctor?"

It was always something unexpected with him.

Clara smirked at the thought. He'd been the stick thrust into the spokes of her life, forcing her to jump off her cycle, brush the grass stains off her knees, and find another way around the world. It's what he did, wasn't it, Clara thought as she searched the switches in front of her and looked about, expecting the Doctor to come leaping up the steps from the underside of the time rotor, some insane story spilling from his lips as he clapped his hands once to rub in her direction.

"Doctor?" She called, leaning into the console to wait.

She tried to think about how long it had been since that day and her mind worked backwards through dates, considering it because she knew she'd written it down somewhere. The day the internet died; the day the Doctor saved her life. Had it been so long ago, she thought with a smile. She imagined him strolling casually through a Victorian alleyway with a top hat settled on his head and she imagined him entering a room with dirt smudging his devastated face and she imagined him rushing across a grassy lawn with a furry coat and she imagined him peering at her curiously through the rear view of a car.

"_Well_ we've had a few first meetings," she whispered.

He'd turned all of her lives around, she supposed. Echoes of herself; lives in which Clara concerned herself with the well-being of the people who surrounded her almost as if in a daze and then he'd fall through the calm surface of her waters, shattering them irrevocably. It was always the same; he saved her saving him.

Stepping around the console, Clara moved into the first corridor thinking about the irony of all those times she died happily because he'd awoken her. Her echoes were always like dreams to her, just like her life had been. A routine settled into the fabric of her timeline that became a monotonous set of obligations until he dropped into it chaotically, breathing life into her in a way nothing had before and she knew nothing else ever would. She supposed that was why she loved him, why she'd stilled his manic chatter and his kinetic existence on that very console and she'd kissed him as he stood frozen in front of her.

"_Clara_."

"_You don't have to… _reciprocate_. I understand why you wouldn't. I just needed you to know_."

She had intended to leave then.

Her life consisted of order. Of lists and duties and responsibilities. Clara had always thought if she didn't have that structure holding her life together, it would fall apart. But the Doctor – this Doctor; _her Doctor_ – came bursting in with a torch to her lists and a laugh to her duties and an open hand to her responsibilities to share them with him. The Doctor skipped into her life with a solitary goal: to take care of _her_… to make _her_ happy.

To do the very thing she'd made it her job to do for others.

_To save her_.

Except one day it would end and she knew it. Or at least she'd thought she knew. Clara operated on the notion of actions and consequences. She hadn't been dealt the hand she'd wanted, but she handled herself quite well with what she had. Through her travels with the Doctor, she'd managed to maintain her life with the Maitlands until they were able to sort themselves; she'd managed to land a job and move ahead in a career. And she'd seen more than the 101 places her mother had hoped for her.

But it all had to come to an end and she imagined breaking her first vow to herself when she began to feel that flutter in her stomach whenever he looked at her was the way to do it. She promised herself she wouldn't fall in love with him, but she did. Every single day she did and she knew prolonging the inevitable was wrong – for the both of them – because she was finally _evolving_ after spending so many years running in place and she deserved an eternity he wasn't prepared to offer.

"Doctor?"

That day on the console, the Doctor had tentatively returned her kiss with an apology – not for being incapable of returning her feelings, but for being so slow in acting upon them. The Doctor knew all about time. About the passage of time and the flow of time and the wonder of time, but mostly about the unjust restrictiveness of time. He was a Time Lord, could live hundreds of years more without gaining a single grey hair if he chose, but Clara would wither and fade and as he'd explained it, Clara felt her insides drop thinking she'd been right and she'd sealed that idea with a simple kiss.

"_Don't_," he'd told her as she'd closed her eyes to drop the tears over her cheeks.

"_Come on, Doctor_," she'd interrupted, hoping maybe she could simply take it back. Travel a little longer, find another day to part. "_101 Places to go – let's not get sidetracked by emotions_."

"_Clara_."

It always amazed her that he was the only person who could say her name and make her legs go weak at the novel's worth of exposition behind it. Because behind _just_ the mention of her name, despite his ability to ramble on and on and on about anything in the universe, were always all of the words he _couldn't_ say. Behind her name sat the longing he had for her and the sorrow he had knowing she would leave him. Hidden behind two syllables were his two hearts breaking because of her and she had to look away because it was something she couldn't save him from.

It was something he couldn't save her from.

"_Emotions shouldn't be sidetracks, and they certainly shouldn't be pushed aside_," he'd told her then with a sad shake of his head, "_I've been letting myself do that for a very long time – and I feel you have as well_."

The Doctor had met her eyes with a growing smile and an unexpected idea… _always an unexpected idea_… and he'd pulled her to him again, crushing her lips with his own in a kiss so desperate, Clara imagined it took all of her lifetime's worth of strength to not collapse under the weight of what it meant. And for all of the restraint she'd exercised in her life, she found herself oppositely as free to do as she pleased without worry after it.

He loved her openly, unabashedly, holding her hand not because they were running, but because she was beside him; touching her flesh not timidly or fleetingly, but with purpose that destroyed the boundaries they hadn't realized they'd established. And Clara threw every preconceived notion of what her life should have been like out in that moment. She allowed herself to erase her lists and her rigidity about rules and expectations and she chose to evolve into something she'd never expected.

Carefree and _truly_ happy.

"Doctor?"

Clara smiled as she rounded the doorframe to her bedroom aboard the Tardis, one she hadn't seen in months, and she found him pacing, head bobbing about as if he were thinking words not spoken and she imagined what they were. But her grin dropped off her face as he turned and went green, seeing her standing there watching him. His right hand gripped into a fist tighter than it had been and his left flew into his hair, scratching nervously at the back.

"Clara," he uttered quietly, "I didn't hear you come in."

"Obviously loads on your mind, Doctor," she stated, voice quivering slightly at the resolute look on his face as he glanced to the floor and then back up at her. She'd seen that look before – had seen it a million times over their years together just as the worst of their adventures seemed ready to beat them down, but she'd never seen it aimed at her. "Everything alright?"

He swallowed, nodding and then shrugging and she felt her insides twisting over how nervous he seemed, as though… she pushed the thought aside, but it still resonated: as though he had changed his mind and when he next spoke, her heart sank.

"We need to talk," he told her firmly.

"Oh," she managed, falling against the doorframe, ready to turn away to run because after letting her defenses down; after opening her heart and letting him fill it to its brim, she felt as though he'd suddenly lifted a dagger to burst it.

His eyes went wide as his hands came up, "No, _no_, no, I _suppose_," he looked to the ground with a sheepish smile, "Not the best choice of words – not a dire circumstance." Then he tilted his head, "Quite a _dire_ circumstance, but not, _no_." He smiled up at her and Clara tried to return the gesture, but she was feeling sick to her stomach now.

"You want me to go," she said softly, hesitantly.

Clara didn't know why she expected a nod. She took a long breath, ready to bottle up her resentment to walk away calmly, seemingly unaffected, except he deflated slightly, brow coming together in a knot of confusion and he took a step towards her, uttering slowly, "_No_."

And then he fell forward in front of her on one knee and Clara dropped quickly, hands at his shoulders, shouting, "Doctor, what is it? _What's wrong_?"

He gave her a grimace and pushed at her, standing again and bickering, "No, no, _that's not_, no, you stand, I stay down – that's how it works. _Traditionally_. Traditionally is good." He pointed at her and she stared as he remained pointing and staring, eyebrows high on his forehead as he fell back to one knee, "This is how it works, Clara…"

"What are you doing?" She asked, words rushing together in a mumble.

He frowned at the floor and nodded slowly, "I consulted your father and he explained…"

"You talked to my father?" Clara asked.

"Yes," he exclaimed, "And you're supposed to hush so I can get thro…"

"You asked my dad's permission?" Clara managed, cheeks flushing as she began to understand what was happening as he raised his eyes to meet hers, grin tugging at his lips.

The Doctor lifted his hands at his sides and he offered, "Of course I asked your father's permission," he pointed with his balled fist, "Tradition, it's an important thing, Cla…" he stopped when she fell again to her knees in front of him, "No, _no_," he argued, "You stand, I…"

Clara shook her head as she laughed, "Doctor, when have I ever cared about tradition?"

"_Well_," he began, head tilting, "You care about _order_ and making sure things are set in their right place, and heaven forbid I leave a toilet lid up, I won't stop hearing about it for da…"

"Yes," Clara said quietly.

He stared.

"Yes," she repeated.

"I haven't asked," he laughed.

"Still, yes," she assured him with a bop of her head.

The Doctor shook his head and smiled, "Clara."

She'd gotten so used to hearing him say her name that way. Even though she didn't understand what was running through his mind half of the time, she always knew by the tone of his voice when he said her name exactly what he meant. _Clara_, he thought with a grin, _let me do the traditional humany traditiony thing because maybe it won't matter at this very moment, but later on – when you're thinking on it and wondering just why I chose to do it this way – it will be important to you_.

Clara lifted herself up to stand in front of him as he bowed his head to laugh nervously before looking up at her and this time the expression he held was something she'd never seen. His eyes held none of the worry or the sadness or the weight they usually held, but it was something different from the way he gazed on a planet, or the way he grinned at her when she woke suddenly and caught him watching her sleep. There was a serenity there, and a hopeful peace, and she didn't take her eyes off his as he uncurled the fingers of his right hand to reveal a simple gold band, three small diamonds –for their hearts, she knew – set into it.

"_Can I say yes now_?" She asked quietly as he laughed lightly and gave her a shake of his head.

"Not quiet yet," he uttered softly, taking her left hand and holding it in his hand.

"Have you got a speech?" Clara shifted her head to prompt.

"Clara, I'm a bit nervous," he sighed.

"Sorry," she whispered, "Continue."

He frowned, "But you know what I'm going to ask now."

"Say the words, Doctor," she called firmly with a bop of her head as she pushed her lips together to conceal the grin that was desperate to break through.

The Doctor merely smiled up at her now as she waited. He watched her as she shifted awkwardly in the space, her hand held in his and he stated, simply, "Marry me, Clara."

"That's not a question," she teased.

"_Will you _marry me, Clara," he whispered with a smile.

Kneeling again, she watched the knowing look he was giving her. The confident grin on his stubborn face as he looked her over and she wondered for the millionth time since she'd met him – what was going through that head of his. Except maybe she knew. Every detail of every moment they'd spent together and how much he longed to make her life better, simpler, happier and she felt him slipping the ring onto her finger gently, his brow rising slightly as he tilted his head, as if asking her a third time despite knowing her answer.

Knowing how much she had come to enjoy the chaos of their life. Knowing that she had a new list of 101 places to see with him that would continually be added to because of him. Knowing she wanted nothing more than to spend her lifetime breaking her rules and erasing her lists and gladly ignoring her own vow, falling in love with him over and over and over again. Maybe his mind hadn't been as hard to read as she thought, Clara knew, because the constant thought, rolling over his every decision since they met, was her.

With a laugh, she replied, "I will."


End file.
